Psychotrauma!
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: Year 5. Harry finally breaks down under the extreme emotional pressure he's been subjected to most of his life. It ends here. Can anything good come from the loss? Retribution. Payback. Bashing. And perhaps something else...


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 ** _PSYCHOTRAUMA!_**

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The Trial

Court 7, already the biggest justice chamber in the Ministry of Magic, had been significantly enlarged. The vast, tiered horseshoe of Wizengamot benches had been widened to allow at their focus, multiple caged chairs of brutal iron. In contrast, the plum-robed figures staring down had been carefully filtered for strength of character, fairness, and above all, their understanding of the deadly crisis that Magical Britain now faced.

"Bring in the prisoners!" commanded Amelia Bones.

A double-door opened, soon followed by the subdued thunder of a great many shuffling, shackled feet. Cursed manacles drained both the magic and the heart out of the captives whose heads hung low as they were goaded at wand point into the black cages. Most were robed in drab yellow but two of them wore formal Muggle attire. As each were seated and locked into an upright position, heads were tilted back as cruel metal bridles slid across throats and tongues to lift each chin, both to limit disruptive outcries and to forcibly display reactions and emotions. Fierce globes of illumination blazed upon their fearful expressions and dazzled their eyes: nothing was to be hidden from this searching inquiry.

Aurors bringing up the rear of this dreadful cavalcade looked bemused; they were one cage short. They appealed to their leader who nodded his understanding then conjured a more comfortable seat for the final dishevelled-looking and confused prisoner.

The gavel of Bones struck. The captives flinched. One began to choke and an Auror strode forward to ease a screw one half-turn with her wand.

"Are we ready?" said Bones.

The Head Auror nodded. "We are, Madam."

"Who will speak for the defendants?"

"Barrister-at-law Erst Tiber Crenshaw, Madam." A grey-haired man stepped forward, bowing to the chair.

"Have all the prisoners agreed to this representation?"

"All but Albus Dumbledore, Madam, who will speak directly to the court."

"He will not," said Bones.

She gazed along the row of scribes on her right. "Weasley, you will perform the duty of proxy in this matter. Brevity is critical; summary charm only."

There was a rustle in the public gallery and Bones frowned. "Weasley! Hurry up, we haven't got all day!"

Percy Weasley's quill had drooped along with his jaw. "Y–yes, M–Madam."

As he made his way to the cage at the far end of the first row, Bones spoke again. "May I remind this court that no disruption will be allowed whatsoever! All such will be dealt with most severely."

Percy took up his position on the left of Dumbledore's cage. There was no seat provided and his tall gangly frame leaned sideways awkwardly to bring his quill and parchment within range of the former headmaster's permitted whisper and his own view of the hovering document.

Bones sniffed. "In the current state of emergency, this session will be conducted within the rules of martial law. Any–"

"–Objection." Crenshaw stood up from his desk. "No emergency has been formally declared, therefore–"

"–thank you for that timely reminder, Mr Crenshaw," said Bones, "As supreme Minister-General and Arbiter–"

"–self-appointed," cut in Crenshaw.

"Mr Crenshaw, have you provided yourself with substitutes?"

"No, Madam, I see no–"

"–then do not interrupt me again while I am speaking because if I have you removed, your clients will be without counsel and you without a commission. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, Madam."

Bones cleared her throat. "As _self-appointed_ supreme Minister-General and Arbiter, I now declare a state of emergency throughout the magical realm of Great Britain. Evidence for the necessity of this will be first on the agenda. Further evidence will be provided as to the untrustworthy nature of the Dementors at Azkaban and that therefore, because of the extreme gravity of our situation, and the absolute necessity for the utmost security, any life sentences given by this court will automatically be converted to and immediately carried out by applying the Dementor's kiss."

After waiting for the few suppressed murmurs to die down under her baleful glare, she continued. "In the interest of expediency, this trial will include many defendants, some potentially co-conspirators, others for separate crimes related by the evidence. They are each charged with extreme abuse and torture leading to the death of Harry James Potter."

Loud wailing arose in the public gallery and muffled gasps from many of the prisoners. A ferocious stinging flash silenced them all.

Bones looked up. Her gaze swept to the uncaged man. "Sirius Black, you are exclusively on trial for the murder of Peter Pettigrew."

Down came her gavel once more. "Mr Crenshaw?"

"Pleas of not guilty were already filed by default to accelerate these proceedings."

"Very well." Bones signalled to a wizard beyond Percy who nodded and with his wand curved a giant screen around the walls at the side of and behind the prisoners.

"Mr Croaker, you are a registered Unspeakable working in the Department of Mysteries, are you not?"

"Correct, Madam."

"And this impressively large screen is connected to the officially inspected Pensieve?"

"Visually yes, Madam. Other sensations will be sent directly to our perceptions. I should warn the court that, although the most extreme suffering has been heavily reduced in volume, unpleasantness cannot be entirely averted."

"Thank you, Mr Croaker. We shall first view the memory of Harry Potter dated the 24th of June, 1995."

"Objection!" Percy's cry coincided with Croaker's but he gave way as the senior counsel began relating details: "Evidence will be presented that Harry Potter was psychotic and delusional; his memories are false."

"Mr Croaker?"

"All of Mr Potter's memories have been rigorously evaluated and misperceptions are hued: natural colour are direct perceptions through the senses and cannot be faked. In this earlier memory there are none of the greys of inner delusions or reds of outer hallucinations that Mr Potter suffered after his psychotic breakdown;"

"Very well. Display the memory."

Cries filled the court and everyone but the manacled captives clutched their heads as if with a migraine.

"Mr Croaker! Please turn down the–"

"–Sorry, Madam, I became somewhat acclimatised after hours of scrutiny." On a device that looked like a very old wireless set, Croaker paused the memory then moved a brass slider from a quarter way across, back to almost zero. everyone sagged, wincing, as if they still were experiencing a fuzzy headache. "That is now only a tenth of the pain Mr Potter suffered from his famous scar and which also, as you can see, blinded him temporarily."

He resumed the memory's flow:

" _Kill the spare,_ " said a high, cold voice.

There was a green flash followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. Everyone watched as Harry's eyelids opened. A youth lay spreadeagled before him, eyes staring lifelessly. A short, cloaked figure lowered his wand and then his hood. He appeared to be carrying a bundle of clothing, or perhaps a baby.

Croaker paused the memory once more and explained. "The boy has been positively identified as Cedric Diggory. The voice ordering his death has been proven to be that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Mr Croaker, this is a court of law; we must have a name," demanded Madam Bones.

"His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort."

Cries turned to screams as flashing stingers found their mark. Quickly there was silence once more.

"And the one who carried out the murder?"

"Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail."

There were less cries and more cringes this time, as the shocked assembly looked around warily to see if any stingers were coming their way.

"Insofar as the evidence proves that Sirius Black could NOT have murdered Peter Pettigrew, I ask the Wizengamot to vote that all charges against Sirius Black be dropped."

A forest of hands rose.

"Sirius Black, you are free to go. Reparation will be discussed later."

Croaker hovered one hand over his controls and looked attentively at Madam Bones. She nodded. "Please continue with the memory."

The gathering watched in shocked dismay as the events at Hangleton Graveyard unfolded. The resurrection of Voldemort, the arrival of his Death Eaters, and the sustained torture of Harry Potter were clear for all to see and experience first hand.

"Gentlemen... Ladies..." Madam Bones intoned grimly, "he's back. The Dark Lord Voldemort is back. Consequently, it is my sad duty to inform all of you ... that Magical Great Britain is at war."

She gave time for that statement to sink in, even holding back the stingers until everyone had settled down again.

"Mr Croaker, other than Pettigrew, have you positively identified the Death Eaters that supported Mr Potter's torture?"

"I have, Madam. They are: Lucius Malfoy, Walden Macnair, Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Selwyn, and Yaxley."

"Mr Robards, can you confirm all of those accused confessed under Veritaserum under the most rigorous of test conditions and witnessed by three of your Aurors that they acted of their own free will? Have you their sworn testimony?"

"Yes, I have, Madam," he said, handing over the evidence.

"And do each of them bear the Dark Mark?"

"They do."

Crenshaw started to rise, opened his mouth, then sank back down again with a defeated look on his face.

Bones waved the confessions high like flags of victory. "Members of the Wizengamot, we have more than enough evidence to convict these monsters. Please vote if you accept they should receive the Dementor's kiss."

Almost every hand went up.

At a signal from the Supreme Minister-General, a door behind the prisoners opened. It was a large door, high enough for the creature that glided out, chilling the air and casting about for its prey.

"Mr Robards, if you would, please..."

Gawain Robards braced himself. He was newly promoted to Head of the law department and had never witnessed anything such as this before. Nevertheless he signalled to his Aurors to retrieve the named Death Eaters from their cages and lead them to the waiting Dementor.

As the bit was removed from between their teeth and the bridle laid aside, each captive began wailing for mercy. Some fell down, their legs giving way to their terror.

"Amelia, please!" squealed Lucius, the moment his mouth was free. He struggled forward on his knees. "I was Imperiused! The Dark Lord was too strong! I tried to resist to the last! The very last!"

"Very well. Hold back Mr Malfoy if you would, Mr Robards. Line up the rest of them to take their turn."

"Oh thank you, Amelia, thank you, Madam!" Lucius grovelled forward to the platform in an effort to kiss her feet.

"Mr Robards, Mr Malfoy wishes to be the very last. Perhaps he might better anticipate his fate through watching his fellow Death Eaters lose their souls. See to it."

Malfoy's shriek was pure hysteria and followed by a long, low wail of despair...

Robards blew air but nodded. He'd known that Madam Bones was tough, but now released from the restrictions imposed by Fudge's regime, she was positively draconian against those that deserved it. Malfoy was rolling on the floor, soiling his yellow robes. With the heavy friction of dragonhide gloves, Robards seized the long silvery hair and dragged the man to his fate. His superior had ordered that Lucius watch, and Robards was nothing if not obedient. He cursed the man's eyes wide open and twisted back the prisoner's head to face the Dementor feasting on Yaxley who was convulsing with his own uncontrollable horror. "You'll watch, damn you, Malfoy! You'll damn well watch all the ones ahead of you so you know exactly what you're about to go through!"

Malfoy's eyes rolled hysterically in their sockets, yet still he could _feel_ the horrific creature watching him, considering him, hear and feel its putrid, icy breath as it moved to Macnair. Macnair, no one harder yet now blubbering on the floor like a baby, clutching at Malfoy, begging, pulling him down, their manacles clattering. The Dementor reached with rotting, decaying hands, brushing Malfoy's flesh as it pulled the screaming Macnair towards itself.

The hood was lowered now, and where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, grey, scabbed skin stretched blankly over empty sockets. There was a mouth ... a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death-rattle, slowly suckling Macnair's terrified cries into itself ... and then the empty shell that had been _The Butcher_ rolled lifelessly back against Malfoy, discarded as the creature's slimy fingers caressed the swooning Alecto, bringing her fully back to the heightened awareness of an unspeakable living death.

"Not so cocky now, are you, Malfoy?" muttered Robards, himself rather shaken, yet disgusted with the pathetic wretch. "Where's your arrogant strut now, you bastard?"

"Unn... uu uu ... uuuuh... kuh ... kuh..."

Robards watched intently at the dawning realisation in Lucius' expression that he was inescapably next, saw the eyes bulge whitely, heard the prolonged screeching as Malfoy's mind departed all things natural and good. Forever.

Gawain Robards turned away feeling slightly nauseous, then straightened his back and took a deep breath. He had a job to do, and Madam Bones was already giving him her next order:

"Please ease the Dursleys' facial restraints, if you please, Mr Robards, and dry their eyes. I don't want them to miss a single moment of the following series of memories from Harry Potter's past."

The entire assembly watched through Harry's early years: the systematic and encouraged bullying from his cousin, the endless revilement and humiliation from his aunt and uncle, the heartbreaking labour and punishment regime, the routine confinement within the cupboard under the stairs. The weeping boy's sobs were matched by many in the courtroom, and none more evident than the sorrowful gasps of a young, bushy-haired girl in the public box.

Madam Bones, one eye on the dusty, spidery shadows which surrounded the terrified five-year-old on-screen, hissed to her clerk: "I was given to understand no children would be permitted at this trial."

The man sighed. "She was desolate and grieving and has the right to be here. Hermione Granger was the nearest thing to family that Potter ever had. She mourned at his bedside until the end."

Bones nodded as the harrowing memory came to its conclusion with young Harry being booted outside into heavy rain to weed the lawn on hands and knees.

"And inspect every blade of grass for pests or no supper tonight, you freak!"

After waiting for the moans and suppressed outcries to die down, Madam Bones said, "I'd like now to hear a professional opinion on the long-term effects of this despicable treatment. Call Miriam Strout."

A middle-aged witch wearing a lime-green robe was shown to a seat before the bench.

"You work for St. Mungo's as a Healer, do you not?" asked Bones.

"Yes, in Spell Damage." She had a kindly demeanour but answered in a confident manner indicating an inner strength.

"Yet you treated Harry Potter? Why was he–"

"–in Spell Damage? He'd been hit by several minor curses and also suffered injuries from a fall. However, I mostly deal with serious mental disorders whether from magical or physical abuse, so my expertise was called on in this case."

"I see. And you have previously witnessed the memory of Harry Potter's childhood at the hands of the Dursleys? Your opinion please."

"Yes, I was the one who helped collect those memories during the boy's few semi-lucid periods. There is no question that the long-term intense emotional and physical abuse of his home life contributed greatly to his eventual psychotic collapse, along with the later enormous abuse he suffered at Hogwarts. Never in all my–"

"–Yes, yes, we'll come to his mistreatment at Hogwarts shortly, Madam Strout. Please remain in the witness chair."

She turned to Croaker. "Have you the next set ready?"

"I do, Madam. As with Potter's early childhood memories, these represent only a tiny fraction to summarise his typical daily experiences at Hogwarts as well as the more... I should warn everyone that some of these experiences are extremely harrowing."

Bones frowned. "Worse than that creature's kisses we witnessed earlier?"

"Yes, Madam, I would say so, not least because of the ongoing, cumulative effect, and because more than one Dementor's approach is _included_ in this nightmare of horrors."

The Supreme Arbiter froze for several moments, then recovered. "Very well, Mr Croaker. If anyone wishes to withdraw from the court at this time, they may do so."

The chamber filled with murmurings for a time, but only one person attempted to leave.

"Not _you_ , Mr Dursley." A ripple of laughter swept around the courtroom. "Your ongoing maltreatment of your nephew continued through, and is interwoven with, Harry's routine abuse at Hogwarts."

"Objection!" Percy's eyes were on Dumbledore's scribed summary, and his hand was raised.

"Overruled. The former headmaster can scarcely object to evidence he has not yet witnessed but to which he has essentially already confessed under Veritaserum."

Croaker swirled his wand and covertly eased up the physical senses slider just a little... Madam Bones secretly lowered the sensitivity of the silencing stingers. Soon everyone in the great chamber was drawn in to the drama and torment of daily life at Hogwarts for the boy who lived.

The unrelenting emotional battering, ridicule, and belittlement from Severus Snape featured prominently throughout. The crowd were practically booing each time that villain made an appearance. The screw tightened throughout Harry's first year and finally split its steely thread as the young child fought off the horrifically double-faced Professor Quirrell and was forced to watch flesh disintegrate when the man died and the Dark Lord's spirit fled once more.

Year two was no easier: unfounded suspicion, false accusations and cruel derision were heaped on the boy from all sides. Forced once more to contend with Voldemort and the venomous bite of a monstrous Basilisk, the pressure on the youth mounted nearer to bursting point.

Dementors! The crowd shuddered as they felt icy fear focusing once again on Harry Potter repeatedly through Year three, heard Harry's mother scream as she sacrificed herself, cringed at the green flash, lost themselves in the gaping, scabby mouth that had forced the boy to relive that awful memory.

Finally, the injustice of a 4th-year lad being manipulated to contend with a nesting Horntail, perils beneath the black lake, and maze monsters was too much for the Gathering, and Madam Bones called a halt to the view of the memory.

"I will not impose on you once more the dread experience of Hangleton Graveyard. Some of you already show signs of a nervous breakdown even from witnessing this much-shortened and greatly-diluted version of events. However, we do have one more memory you must witness."

At her signal, Croaker displayed the Dementor's attack in Little Whinging. "You have experienced an innocent suffering all the terror and agonies we just witnessed Death Eaters go through – yet he fought off the creatures and saved his cousin when he might have just run. This sacrifice was at a terrible price to himself."

Madam Bones struggled for a few moments with emotion. "The same relative we have witnessed bullying and tormenting Harry all his childhood was saved, and in return, the Ministry's former administration threatened to have Potter's wand snapped, expel him from Hogwarts, and, no doubt, have him excommunicated from magic completely – all because he told the truth that VOLDEMORT was back! Yes, that's right, the enemy's name is VOLDEMORT!

Her rage subsided a little and she composed herself enough to continue. "Mr Robards, do you have the document authorising the despatch of Azkaban Dementors to Little Whinging?"

"I do." Robards held up a scroll of parchment that was partly burnt. "I rescued it from the witch as she was attempting to destroy it – the very same witch whose signature is on the order!"

"And that name is?"

"Dolores Jane Umbridge."

"Objection!" cried Crenshaw. "Madam Umbridge was acting on the orders of Minister Fudge and had no option but to comply by law." Crenshaw drew a deep breath. "Objection!"

Madam Bones blinked. "You're objecting to your own objection?"

"I object on behalf of Cornelius Oswald Fudge, former Minister for Magic, who denies all knowledge and for which there is no written evidence."

"–But who has already confessed under Veritaserum! Confessed to verbally directing his Undersecretary to..." Bones retrieved a parchment from a stack on the bench before her. "to... _Use all and every means to crush, denounce, vilify, and malign the boy who lived so as to mislead the public into regarding him as as a lying trouble-maker, and thus break his spirit, bring him to heel, and, if possible, have him ejected from the British Magical Community for all time!_ Madam Umbridge has also confessed to her part in the character assassination and to... _dispatch Dementors to finally destroy the heart and soul of the boy who lived!_ Both objections overruled!"

Crenshaw began to speak, then gave up with a shrug.

"Madam Strout," continued Bones, "please give your views on how the weight of these four years at Hogwarts culminating in the murder of Harry's friend Cedric, his prolonged torture at the hands of the so-called Lord Voldemort, and then followed by the enforced isolation and Dementor assault at Little Whinging might affect a child, especially one completely unsupported and uncared for by those responsible for his welfare."

"Madam Bones, I have many years experience of minds breaking under unbearable torments. I am at a loss to comprehend why Harry Potter did not have complete emotional collapse long before the end. That he survived his fourth year at Hogwarts yet could function just enough to return to his home is... it's a miracle."

"How then would you describe his state of mind when he returned to Privet Drive?"

"Beyond the end of his rope. Mentally fatigued, confused, reaching out desperately for the support of family and friends who were never there, some of his last few words to me were as follows:"

With shaking hands, Strout took a piece of parchment from the pocket of her robe, unfolded it, and began to read:

" _I'm scared,_ he confessed as he clung to my hand. _I can't do this anymore. Nowhere's safe, nowhere. I'm on my own now and don't know what's happening. I can't see – yet I see things! Terrible shapes! Creeping horrors clawing at me, always dragging me down! Where can I turn now everyone's avoiding me?_ And then he repeated, _I can't do this anymore."_

"And how would you interpret that clinically?"

"He'd already been in a psychotic state for days, delusional, hallucinating, babbling incoherently, screaming wildly much of the time. His few words were but a glimpse into his own private hell."

"And your prognosis?"

"His mind was past saving. Sharing his ward we have other patients broken beyond repair: a former Hogwarts teacher rendered ever more foolish by his own curse, and a couple – ex-Aurors – whose tortured minds can only comprehend the simplest of concepts. Harry Potter endured and his mind unhinged way beyond those before he even arrived at St. Mungo's."

"Was there no other course of treatment that might have–"

"–We called in a specialist from America. He successfully treated the infamously-cursed scar on Harry's forehead, but the boy's mind he could not save. The scar had been harbouring a–"

"OBJECTION!" cried Percy reading the summarisation of Dumbledore's wild-eyed and laborious champing. "POTTER'S SCAR IS NOT RELEVANT TO THESE PROCEEDINGS!"

Madam Bones frowned at the interruption to her flow of thought. "Very well, Mr Weasley – objection upheld! The Wizengamot will disregard all reference to Harry's scar. Madam Strout, please limit your testimony to Harry's mental condition and the treatment of it."

What had she been thinking of just then...? Something she'd read in the Daily Prophet... "Uuh... Madam Strout... let me see now... ah, yes, was that American the same Healer from whom Gilderoy Lockhart stole the Portkey and escaped? Could he have endangered Harry Potter?"

"No. Gilderoy Lockhart retained a natural deviousness we knew nothing of. For some time prior to this episode, Lockhart appeared to spiral down further into giggling fits. Finally, he was unable to even eat or drink, gave every indication of being semi-comatose, and we made the decision to let nature take its course. But it was all a pretence! He was seen leaving the seaport at Salem with a swagger that belied his known condition. The search which has been underway ever since is now being wound down. No, he showed no interest in the boy whose condition was by then, too far gone to be alleviated."

"So if Potter had been brought to your attention earlier?"

"From my discussions with Madam Pomfrey, the Matron of the hospital wing at Hogwarts, she recommended the boy receive extensive therapy and emotional support soon after the graveyard episode. That request was denied. Instead, the boy was sent to relatives who hated and abused him, and utterly cut off from anyone who cared; it was specifically arranged that way."

"By whom?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

The gavel came down with a CRASH!

"We have heard enough to make some further decisions!" cried Madam Bones.

"Bring out Dolores Umbridge!"

Shackled, Umbridge waddled forward, head tilted on one side, a sickly smile appealing to Madam Bones. She opened her mouth as if to speak–

"–Those in favour of conviction?"

There was no hesitation as every arm was raised. Down came the gavel. Umbridge jumped. As if she could not comprehend that this could possibly be happening to her, a puzzled look crossed her face – and then a shadow. The creature was ever hungry, even for such a one as this. The woman's smile disappeared and she slumped, empty, to the ground.

Bones wasted no time. "Cornelius Fudge!"

"Now see here! He-who-must-not-be-named is NOT back. He CAN'T be!"

"Those in favour of conviction?"

The vote was never in doubt. Two Aurors had to carry the protesting man to the Dementor. "He CAN'T be!" were his last words.

"Bring forth Severus Snape!"

Fury and fear mingled in the bitterly-dark eyes of the man with long greasy hair. He spluttered and cursed as the iron bit was pulled from between his teeth. A tirade of verbal abuse poured from his foam-spittled lips. "Arrogant as his father! – determined rule-breaker – revelled in his fame! an attention-seeking, impertinent brat!"

"Those in favour of conviction?"

There was no necessity for any further show of hands. Snape was still cursing as the Dementor's gaping maw smothered the words, sucked deeply, and the man's dark soul departed.

Madam Bones signalled to Robards to bring up the two Muggles, one of which had collapsed within her cage, shuddering and convulsing, her horsy face champing bloodily at her metal bit.

"Those in favour of convicting the Dursleys?"

All hands rose, and the icy cold intensified as the Dementor slathered towards its Muggle prey.

"YOU FREAKS HAVE NO RIGHT!" shrieked Vernon Dursley as his uncomprehending wife's mouth was swallowed by the slobbering, greedy apparition. Her eyes bulged wide at the last – just once – then gazed lifelessly into the void.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!..." Vernon's shackled kicks achieved nothing as he was lifted up off his feet by scabby, slimy hands. Up, up, up to that terrible shapeless mouth. "FFFFREEEEAAAAKKK!" was the last word sucked out with his miserable soul.

"Albus Dumbledore!"

The gasps and murmurs died away as the great patriarch was dragged forward. His long grey beard had become stuffed within his mouth by the iron bridle and he struggled to speak. "Can no one perceive the greater picture and forgive a few misjudgements on my part? You must understand that–"

"–Albus Dumbledore! Your suppressed memories reveal your own sister died from neglect by _you_ , her family guardian. And yet a century later you systematically and deliberately applied that same uncaring negligence to the youth savaged by your cruel dominance, claiming a guardianship which was never even legal! All the atrocities heaped on Harry Potter are centred on YOU. You it was that cast him into the Dursleys' pit of relentless abuse! You, that permitted Snape to routinely break his spirit and his mighty heart! You that arranged his life at Hogwarts so as to inflict the maximum suffering imaginable!"

"Amelia! You know not what you do! There is more to–"

"–The Unspeakables now know everything that you know, Dumbledore. They will take care of your little 'secrets' _professionally._ – All those in favour of conviction?"

"WAIT! WAIT! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! NONE OF YOU FULLY–!"

Dumbledore immediately broke off at the swift approach of the Dementor. His end was not so rapid. The man was old, with a great many varied experiences. The creature relished them longingly as it slathered and slobbered the soul from the formerly respected Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His body slumped heavily to the floor and was dragged away to join the growing heap in the corner.

"Mr Croaker, I believe there is one more memory?"

"Indeed. We move now to the night of 5th August, 1995. Madam Strout will prepare you for this..."

Strout nodded and began. "By this time, Harry was suffering waves of disturbing episodes. He perceives the Dursleys as... of an uncertain reality, almost like ghosts. They appear greyish-red in the memory, indicating Harry is half-hallucinating, half-delusional. One part of his mind is deeply troubled yet part of him stands aloof, as if witnessing a theatrical play. There are indications his dark, confused persona may have repeatedly used a cutting curse on his wrist, then his rational side later healed it."

"The Dementor attack was on the first of the month," said Bones. "What happened in the interim to cause this breakdown into... madness?"

"Isolation," said Strout quite positively. "Remember, in June he'd been tortured and threatened by He-who-must-not-be-Named. He regarded himself as the prime target of the most dangerous man on Earth, and the strain broke him down hour by hour. He'd sent his owl with messages to his friends begging for information, guidance... comfort, but he was utterly abandoned during the days of his greatest need."

The faint sound of stifled sobbing could be heard from the public balcony. Madam Bones asked that a glass of water be provided to the girl in the front row. "Carry on, Madam Strout."

"The family were going out for the evening. Harry was locked in his bedroom. Harry was–"

"–I don't understand, I thought you said they were going out for the evening?"

"His 'family' were going out," explained Strout.

"But..."

"Harry was not regarded as 'family' nor even as 'human'. His bedroom door was locked. Typically he was fed through a cat flap when he was confined for extended periods."

"Merlin! Are we certain this is not just–"

"–See for yourself."

And so Croaker stirred the memory into full flow. A room became visible growing darker as the last of the summer daylight ended. The boy with tousled hair, looking gaunt and visibly trembling was crouched, knees under his chin, rocking back and forth at the foot of his bed – the only space where he might hide from the terrors of the night. A noise from the street made him jerk and, whimpering with fear, he ran to close the window, despite the oppressive heat.

The room was turning now. Harry Potter clutched at his head. "Stop, just stop!" He clambered on to the bed, back to the wall. Then, as if he'd sensed something coming through that wall, he jumped back down to his place on the floor, hugging himself and whining, "Not real, not real, not real..."

The empty house creaked around him. Harry squatted in a kind of stupor, striving to think of nothing, suspended in a corrosive misery.

Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.

He cringed back into his corner, fumbling out his wand from his back pocket and listening intently. "Can't use... can't use... not allowed ... use magic..." He put his wand, his only means of defence, back into his pocket.

There was silence for a few seconds, then harsh, high-pitched, almost childlike demonic voices from below. They'd come for him. They were discussing how they might hurt him, how they might take him away to be hurt forever beyond anyone's reach. He couldn't really hear what they were saying but he knew all the same. Harry Potter squealed. He wet himself with fear. His hand went for his wand, fumbled it, lost it to the darkness, fumbled frantically under his bed... clutched it at last.

The lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Silence.

As if summoned by forces unknown, Harry crawled to the doorway, peering down into the darkness below the stairs. He gasped. There were little red creatures standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all grinning evilly up at him, eyes shining with malevolence. Arms reached up towards him, drawing him down. "Come with us! Come with us!"

Harry shrieked his curses. The darkness was finally split by blinding spell colour. The hideous demons shouted their fury, then chanted their responses. Blood. Torn skin. Pain. Harry turned and fled back into his room. He didn't stop running until he had hurled himself screaming through the glass of the bedroom window and crashed onto the lawn below.

The memory ended.

Shaken, the audience in the courtroom kept their silence. Waiting.

"Bring Alastor Moody and the others forward," Bones said grimly.

She watched as several wizards and witches were brought out from their cages. One of them, a one-eyed, one-legged man struggling with a crutch, came to the forefront. "A false memory!" he roared. "Not what happened."

"You have all confessed under Veritaserum to participating in this attempted kidnap!"

"We were there to escort the boy to safety!" growled Moody.

"Did you inform him you were coming?"

"N–not 'xactly, no."

"So you didn't have his consent?"

"His guardian authorised the escort."

"Harry Potter's guardians went out for the night. Why would they instruct you to–"

"–Not the ruddy Muggles!"

"The Dursleys were Harry Potter's legally appointed guardians. You have provided no evidence of their authorisation."

"Dumbledore was Potter's magical guardian as you well know, Amelia!"

"Mr Moody, let me explain. There is no such thing as a 'magical' guardian except insofar as a legal guardian happens to be magical, for instance the magical parents of a magical child. Albus Dumbledore fabricated the title, illegally self-appointed himself in that capacity, then appointed the Dursleys as the legal and only guardians by his act of leaving the child with them."

"Doesn't matter. It was our intentions that matters. We acted in good faith."

"To steal into the child's home at dead of night, without his agreement, without even informing him, and without any legal authority, and knowing that he was under constant fear of Death Eater attack and likely to be terrified. The shock tipped the child into madness from which he never recovered. Each of you contributed to his death."

"We had no such intention!" bellowed Moody.

"Tell me, Mr Moody, what was your reaction when our Aurors slipped without warning into _your_ kitchen to arrest _you_ a few nights' later?"

"I put three of the bastards down before I realised–"

"–exactly. And how do you think you would have fared at age fifteen? After being tortured by You-know-who a few weeks before?"

"Potter was strong!"

"Not strong enough, it seems, to withstand your callous indifference to his misery."

Bones stood up. "I call now on the Wizengamot to vote on this matter of attempted kidnapping resulting in death. All those in favour...?"

Hands were raised. Some hesitated. Finally there could be no doubt.

"Convicted!" declared Bones.

A woman fainted. Another screamed. The Dementor strained towards them awaiting only a signal. Bones' arm began to raise her gavel...

Crenshaw stood up. "Insofar as there was no malice aforethought, but admitting that the defendants did not take sufficient care to foresee the possible consequences of their actions, I ask that the charge be reduced to one of criminal negligence and manslaughter."

Bones nodded. "All those in favour."

The gaze of the Supreme Minister-General and Arbiter swept across the Wizengamot. "Carried. Three years in Azkaban. In the light of Miss Tonks' inexperience and youthfulness, her sentence is commuted to one year. Perhaps dwelling on her crime for that length of time might educate her as to individual responsibility and forethought." She turned to her clerk. "Have the Auror guards been doubled at Azkaban yet?"

"They have, Madam."

"And the Dementors herded into the pens far away from the cells?"

"They have, Madam Bones. With no despair for them to feed upon and breed, an estimate has been made of six months before they die off naturally and so thereafter can never be recruited by Lord... You-know-who."

Madam Bones turned to the prisoners with a look of disgust. "A young boy who gave so much, endured a miserable life right under the noses of his so-called friends. His suffering and your insensitivity is beyond imagination. Think on it during your confinement."

Down came the gavel one final time. "Take them away."

.

Words on a Gravestone

Hermione Granger was empty inside. Everything had now changed. She bade farewell to her parents and watched as they drove away from King's Cross station at the start of a new school year. She waited until they were out of sight before entering a private telephone cubicle. There she held tight to her travel chest before touching the Portkey in her pocket.

The air was different after a while: new smells, a change in the breeze, a warmth that caused her to loosen her travel cloak. "Hello, Harry," she smiled.

With a grin, the boy received her hug. "You were brilliant, Hermione. Did anyone suspect?"

"Not one. Your performance was amazing."

He sighed. "I wasn't performing, Hermione. Okay, I milked it somewhat, but I really was scared... and well... desolate. The memories taken from me at St. Mungo's were real memories with only your slight hallucinatory enhancements that made it all work. Thanks for ignoring Dumbledore and phoning me with your plan; I really was at breaking point."

The couple began to walk through the trees.

"Oh, it's a park," smiled Hermione, as they came into the open.

"My car's over there," said Harry. "It's only twenty minutes to our house."

"So you managed to transfer your Gringotts account okay?"

Harry nodded. "It's huge in American dollars; I never really appreciated how much there really was."

There was a lull in their conversation. Leaves blew across their path.

"Regrets?" Harry studied her expression.

"Many. I thought they were harsh on Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione.

Harry sighed but didn't answer. "At least Lockhart was finally of some use."

"Only after he died. He still had a few hours to live when I forced a whole bottle of Polyjuice down his throat, but I knew he'd never be coherent even when he looked like you. Anyway, they gave him a wonderful funeral in your name – more than he deserved really."

"What did they put on the–"

"– _The boy who lived, finally at peace._ – McGonagall's words."

"She got that right." They'd almost reached the car and Harry paused to look around at the scenery: the sky, the foliage, No-Majs walking by living normal lives. No Dark Lords attacking them, no invisible guards watching their every move, no corrupt Ministry. He opened the car door for her and Hermione slipped into the passenger seat.

"Harry..." she said, as he took his position in the driving seat beside her, "would you mind if I kiss you? I mean, if we're really serious about this?"

"Oh yeah," grinned Harry, "we're serious alright."

.

The End

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I'd always been annoyed at how Harry was treated, like a commodity to be handled, that has no say in the matter. This ultimate retribution and escape idea forced me to write a fic to get it out of my system. Originally, Harry was to really die believe it or don't! But as the trial dragged on I realised it would wind down as an anti-climax in the end. Could I save him? The outrageous escape plan started to form in the Slytherin side of my brain. You know, where you hear those funny voices talking to you, right? And then it all came together._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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